


Waking When The Sun's Down

by rosaeles



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is too, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, he just doesnt know it yet, idk it makes my heart happy whenever I write this, like she's so soft, lots of book references and quotes!, reader owns a bookstore!, she and bucky are very soft, the reader is too pure for her own good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosaeles/pseuds/rosaeles
Summary: Bucky Barnes is coming undone. He is broken and bruised and ripped at the seams.And you. Well, you're completely and entirely too good for him.orBucky is going through a lot! You own a bookstore! One day you bump into each other! literally!fluff, angst, the whole shebang!I'll add more tags as the fic progresses!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ I might lose my mind,  
> waking when the sun's down.  
> Riding all these highs,  
> waiting for the comedown. ]
> 
> word count: 2.7k  
> warnings: none I don't think! 
> 
> // 
> 
> this is my first multi chapter fic ever!! it's like my lil baby and im so excited to share it!! idk !! I hope you enjoy !!  
> im going to try to make updates as regular as possible but I have school and work and life's a bit crazy atm so I wont make any promises :) still, I hope u like it! tell me what u think! leave a comment!

Everyone wants to tell Bucky Barnes what he is.

A war veteran, a soldier, a criminal. A man who  _ isn’t trying hard enough to get better. _

A prisoner, a victim, a pawn. A man who was used and tortured and near-destroyed.

It makes him want to scream. Scream and scream until his voice runs ragged and hoarse and empty. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, Bucky Barnes, former assassin, former spy, former  _ killer _ , hides away in his room, in a compound that is entirely too big and too small at the same time, only coming out when night falls and he knows the corridors will be empty. 

Sometimes the others catch him. 

Natasha will slip into the kitchen at one am to find Bucky already there, slumped over the counter, coffee mug turning cold in his hands.

Steve will walk into the training room at five am and to find him pummeling decades of fear and pain and anguish into a punching bag. 

_ Hell hath no fury like a broken man.  _

Bucky likes to think he’s doing better. He doesn’t run when Natasha sees him anymore. Instead they sit side by side in the dark. No words shared between them, the silence seems to suit them both.

He doesn’t shrink away when Steve offers to wrap his split, broken knuckles because he _ knows  _ that Steve just wants to help. 

He knows that everyday, Steve throws out a worn, hopeful rope into the void between them and prays that Bucky will reach out and grab hold. 

But he avoids the others. Tony still hates him, Bucky knows this. He sees it in the man’s eyes. Thor is too loud. Bruce is too kind. Wanda can see right through him. Clint is annoying. Sam understands the ache far more than Bucky would like him to.

They're all too much. 

One night, in the training room, Bucky says this to Steve between heavy punches and tight, painful breaths. 

Steve offers his oldest friend a gentle smile. 

“It’s fine if you can’t handle it all yet, Buck. I know it took me a long time to. You’re trying. And it’s more than enough”

Bucky nods, because that seems to be the only thing he can do these days. Nod and shrug and grunt and do just enough to make the others think he’s doing alright.

He knows he’s not trying nearly as hard enough as he should be.

He vows to do better.

That's why he finds himself walking down the streets of Brooklyn at eight in the morning. It’s still a little cold for early March but Bucky doesn’t mind, his jacket blocks the brunt of it and it could be worse. 

_ It could be winter. _

He’s never liked the cold. Even before the war, before HYDRA. Winter has always been his least favourite season, which is ironic, he thinks, considering it’s the season the universe insists on binding him to. Oh cruel, _wicked_ fate.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't see you barreling towards him until it’s too late. 

Your bodies collide and he hears you gasps as the box you’re holding goes tumbling out of your hands, spilling books on the ground between you. You almost go down with them but Bucky’s gloved metal hand darts forward before he can stop it, grabbing your wrist before you hit the ground, pulling you back up.

“Thank you-I.. I wasn’t looking where I was going I- I’m sorry.. Are you- are you alright?” Apologies tumble from your mouth, getting tangled in the air between the two of you as you kneel straight back down by his boots to pick up the fallen books. 

Bucky is in shock. It’s the first time he’s touched anyone apart from Steve in  _ months.  _ He looks down at his gloved hand, flexing his digits beneath the leather, watching the way the fabric ripples over his metal joints.

The touch was brief. Just a light tug on your small wrist to stabilize you, but a ring of red is appearing where he caught you, it peeks out from underneath the sleeve of your sweater, and it makes Bucky feel slightly sick.

You’ve barely noticed, still apologising as you fumble around, carefully placing the books back into the box, holding them gently as if they contain the world and all it's secrets.

Before he can stop himself, Bucky kneels down by you, avoiding your eyes, and begins to help you gather them

“You don’t have to apologise, Miss. I… I walked into you.” His voice is cracked and muted behind the sound of footsteps hitting asphalt but your ears catch it anyway and heat rushes to your face as both your hands reach for the last book. 

Bucky picks it up carefully and offers it to you.

“Please, it’s just Y/N.” you say, taking the book from him and placing it in the box, slipping the lid on. 

You both stand up and Bucky notices that the top of your head barely reaches his shoulders. 

“Thank you for helping me put these back.” Your smile is all sparkling eyes and dimples as you look up at him.

Bucky wants to shake his head and say that he hasn’t done a thing, apart from inconvenience your day, but your expression holds so much warmth that it thaws the cold and all he can do is stand there, transfixed by it. 

He breaks out of his daze and clears his throat, wondering what he should do next. 

_ What would Steve do next?  _

“Do... Do you need any more help?”

You shake your head, “No I- I don’t want to be a bother, besides, my bookstore is only a few blocks away from here.” your hand pokes out awkwardly from under the box to point in the direction Bucky came from.

“Are you sure? I don’t have anywhere else to be.” Bucky doesn’t even know what’s making him act so open with someone who isn't Steve. With a  _ civilian.  _ A civilian who doesn't even know who he is.

_ What he’s done. _

It doesn’t take much to convince you, “If you’re sure about it, here!” The box is unceremoniously dumped into his arms.

It’s heavy, even for him and it must show on his face as he grunts, losing his balance momentarily.

You laugh and Bucky thinks it sounds like song birds and wind chimes and summer.

“Heavy, I know. I carry books around all day, so I’m kinda’ used to it.”

Bucky smiles back gently and it feels a little foreign, as if the muscles in his face aren’t used to it anymore, “Clearly.”

“Shall we start going? I gotta open soon,” you offer him another smile and Bucky nods. 

“Lead the way.”

Bucky has the chance to look at you properly as he follows you through the streets. You’re shorter than him, practically engulfed by a pale grey sweater with a haphazard bun tied at the nape of your neck loosely, strands forming a rampant frame around your face. 

It’s cute, Bucky thinks. Normal.  _ Safe.  _ If only Steve could see him right now.

You walk in relative silence, accompanied by the soft rumble of cars and other conversations, 

You’re leading him towards the sun, he notices. Its honey rays glowing softly around you, framing your figure gently. You look like an angel. Something ethereal and entirely too soft for his jagged, torn edges. Too sweet for his tight spine and sharp teeth.

It’s almost too good to be true. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe something terrible will happen and he’ll wake up with a scream ripping through his throat. Maybe he’s still with HYDRA, locked in a cryogenic freeze. Maybe he’s-

“Okay, this is it.” Your voice pulls him from his thoughts. Bucky glances around to take in his surroundings. 

You’ve stopped in front of a small shop front, relatively hidden from the rest of Brooklyn. It’s dimly lit so he can’t make out the interior but in the doorway, there’s a carefully hand painted sign; “ **_we’re not open_ ** _! _ ”

You let yourself in, breathing deeply as you go, the faint smell of fresh ink and old paper wrapping itself around you, Bucky sees your shoulders relax slowly and he hangs back, not wanting to intrude on the moment. 

“Come in,” you smile, “welcome to my heart” and there is such a tenderness in your eyes, a softness, that Bucky finds it impossible to resist. He stumbles over the threshold, nudging the door shut. A bell chimes somewhere behind him.

The first thing his mind registers is the books. They’re everywhere. 

Crammed onto shelves, piled on the floor, on chairs, on the wide counter. You seem to notice and you shoot him a grin.

“It’s cramped, I know.” Then you gesture to the countertop, “You can put the box there- Oh!” you cut yourself off, “I haven’t even asked for your name, god you must think I’m so rude...”

Bucky stares at you for a second, words dying on his tongue. 

He’s had many names in his life.

And for some reason he  _ cares _ about what name you’ll call him by.

Finally he settles on something safe. Something that his mother and sisters used to call him. 

A name that he hasn’t heard since the War.

“I’m James.” 

“ _ James _ .” You test it out, and it’s the sweetest sound Bucky has heard in his entire life.

“It’s an old name,” you tilt your head thoughtfully, eyes running smoothly over his features. 

Bucky nods. “My ma thought it was a strong name.”

You grin, “I think it is too”

There's a pause as you pull the box from him, setting it down on the counter.

When your hands are free, you turn back to him, “It’s nice to meet you, James." 

“Its- It’s nice to meet you too Y/N” Bucky’s words come out stumbling and just like that, he's a sixteen year old kid again, with a heart that loves just a little too hard for his liking. 

If you notice, it doesn’t show on your face. Instead, you shoot him another smile and it makes Bucky feel like he’s witnessing something otherworldly, like he’s witnessing the whole universe and then some. 

He averts his gaze. 

Bucky Barnes is many things. Deserving of the way you’re looking at him is not one of them.

“Well, James, the least I can do is offer you a book for making you carry this the way here.” You gesture around, “Choose anything.”

The selection overwhelms him. 

“You don’t- You don’t need to give me anything. I.. I’ll get out of your way.”

“ _ Please?  _ I just.. I would like you to have a book. As a thank you, for carrying the box for me.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. 

A small part of him wants to run back to the safety of the compound and stay there until he’s forgotten your eyes and your smile and it shouldn’t be too hard considering the mess his memory is. He wants to curl up on the floor in his room and cover his ears and sleep and sleep until it all goes away. 

The other part of him wants to accept your offer and take a book. 

Bucky knows, rationally, that it’s the part Steve would want him to listen to. The part he  _ should _ listen to. He takes the tiniest step towards you. “What do you suggest?”

Your eyebrows rise and you clap your hands together happily, “It depends, what do you like to read?”

Bucky doesn’t know how to tell you that he doesn’t even remember the last time he picked up a book, so he settles on something that he heard Stark’s Spider boy mention a few weeks ago. 

“I like fantasy.” 

“Me too! It’s my favourite genre, I have just the book in mind, wait here.” 

Bucky just nods as you disappear into a back room.

A few seconds later, you hurry out, clutching a thick red book. 

“It’s  _ The Neverending Story _ ” You pat the worn dust jacket gently before holding it out to him. “This is my personal copy but we don’t have anymore in stock and I think you’d like it.”

Bucky notices something else in your voice. Something separate from the giddiness and sweetness. A little more tentative. 

You  _ care.  _

And Bucky doesn’t understand why.

Still, he takes it from your hands, a small thank you escaping him.

“It’s the least I can do,” you shrug. “I hope you enjoy it.” Your voice is genuine, if not a little shy.

You’re both quiet for a while more. It’s not the heavy, burdened silence there is when Bucky sits with Natasha though. That silence tastes like ash and cinders. Like mutual pain and a heavily tangled history. 

This silence is calmer, lighter. Like the world could be collapsing in on itself right outside and neither of you would notice. 

But Bucky can’t afford that.

Awkwardly, he nods again, severing whatever is between you. A wince flickers across your features, almost as if you feel the loss of it too. 

Bucky clears his throat. “I should probably get going.” 

“Of course,'' You nod, “places to be.”

“Something like that.” It’s a lie of course, he has absolutely nowhere to be. But you don’t need to know that. Bucky steps back out into the street and you offer him a small wave. 

The door is just shutting behind him when he catches your voice one last time.

“ _ Don’t be a stranger. _ ” 

*** 

Moments after James leaves, a whirlwind of blonde and caramel and waltzes in pulling you out of your thoughts. It hangs its coat up in the store room before leaning over the counter conspitationally, bronze curls pooling onto the wood.

“Y/N?” 

You hum noncommittally as Elise, your very pregnant best friend and only colleague pokes your arm softly. Her coffee brown eyes find yours and she winks. 

“Who was the  _ gorgeous _ young man I saw leaving our little shop just now?”

“I don’t really know he-”

Elise tuts “He was good looking Y/N, very _ very  _ good looking... Is he going to be a regular?”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend, Elise? Aren’t you  _ pregnant _ ?” you shoot straight back playfully, “speaking of which, how big is Elise junior now?”

She pokes your arm again, “roughly the size of a coconut. Stop changing the subject.”

“A coconut? She’s so _ big _ -”

“ _ Y/N L/N! _ ”

A sigh escapes you, “His name is James, and he was helping me bring the latest order in.”

“And why, pray tell, would he be doing that?” 

“I bumped into him this morning. Well more like rammed into him but” you shrug, “details.”

“Into those rock hard pecs? Are you concussed?”

“What- no I'm not  _ concussed _ , the box was between us, I didn’t come anywhere close to his-” You break off shrugging softly, “It doesn’t matter anyway. I let him take a book for his troubles and he left. We’re never going to see him again.” 

Turning your back to her before she can catch anything on your face that could give away how you feel, you point to the box. 

“Care to help me out?” 

Elise comes to stand by you, pulling the books out of it and setting them down for the both of you to organise; the whole process seamless and perfected the way something can only be after years of practice. But you and Elise have had that. 

After a while, she nudges you again. “So... What’d he take?”

You bite your lip. “I gave him _The_ _Neverending Story_.” 

“ _ Oh Y/N. _ ”

“I thought he might like it-”

“Your copy?”

A pause. 

“Yeah,” and it’s just a tiny word but saying it out loud causes your heart to clench a little tighter. 

“With all the underlining and stupid annotations?”

“That’s the one.”

“The one you’ve carried with you since  _ fifth grade _ ? 

You don’t say anything. 

Elise sighs.

“Y/N you  _ love _ that book,” her voice is gentle. 

“I know! I know… He just- He looked so  _ lost _ . And I thought that maybe it would cheer him up like it cheers me up it was stupid  _ I know _ -” 

Elise’s arms wrap around you before you can finish your sentence and you nestle into her shoulder. 

“I don’t think it was stupid at all,” she mumbles. “I think you did the right thing. I just know how much it meant to you.” 

It feels like you've given a part of you away. There’s a stranger walking around New York with a piece of your heart. With the only thing you have left of a father you barely remember. 

“I’m sure he needs it more than I do. I just hope he takes care of it.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> word count: 3.4k  
> warnings: none :)
> 
> // 
> 
> school and work are *killing* me! but i managed to finish this chapter! woohoo! so yeah, i hope you like it!! leave a comment, tell me what u think!!  
> oh also! my best friend is reading this and she told me to plug her twitter! it's @yoomgitea

It takes Bucky three days to finish “ _The Neverending Story”_. 

He pours over it whenever he has the chance. 

After training with Steve. When he should be having lunch with the others. At night when it gets too dark for his liking and he has to sit on the roof just to calm himself down.

In doing so, Bucky learns about you too. 

You’ve written _all_ over the pages. 

Underlining the quotes that mean something to you, circling particular words, drawing the characters where there’s free space.

There are also more personal notes. Times when you’ve written things to yourself, scrawled trains of thought that sit cramped together between lines.

Faded coffee stains and ink smudges, mindless scribbles and calculated ideas. There are a few places where the paper has dried in tiny circular spots. They remind Bucky of tear drop stains, too round and formed to seem like anything else.

He tries to ignore them.

Bucky feels like he’s reading two stories at the same time. One about empresses and centaurs and friendship and another about you. About your sense of humour and your favourite words. 

It's a beautiful mess really, he still doesn't completely understand why you would give him it.

A small, selfish part of him wants to not care. It wishes he could just keep it forever, scribbles and all. 

But then he remembers the the way in which you'd given it to him, the bright smile on your face faltering for a second, giving way to something more insecure and shy. 

Bucky decides that he doesn't want to be the cause of that look.

Not now. Not ever. 

  
  


***

Late afternoon is your favourite time in the store. 

Something about the way the sun sinks lower and lower, her warm rays melting over the books, a soft incandescence sprawling through the shop front lazily. The glow slowly fills the shop, caressing the delicate spines of the books and bringing you a wave of quiet joy.

The last customers leave, and for an hour or so, it’s just you and Elise.

It becomes quiet and empty and a breeze will sway past you if you wedge the back door open, caressing your skin and the shelves.

Today, Elise works away at her laptop, fingers skimming across the keyboard as she orders new additions. Anything and everything from thick fantasy sagas to sweet romances. Her blonde curls spill around her face and tuck under the collar of her sweater. 

You grab your headphones and begin to re-shelve the books that have made their way into the wrong places throughout the day. 

You’ve pulled out a stool so you can return a stray poetry anthology to its rightful place on higher shelves. The stool is an old thing with a wobbly leg that's probably a little too close to being a danger hazard for your liking, but if you're careful, you can just about reach the top shelves.

You push yourself right up onto the tips of your toes precariously, your eyes sweeping over the alphabetically ordered spines until you find the empty slot.

You’re just sliding the book in when Elise’s voice rings out, pushing its way under your music. 

_“Y/N!”_

Then, Elise says something else but the bass hits in the song that’s playing in your ears, muffling her words. Still on your tiptoes, you turn around.

It all happens so fast you barely register it. 

One moment you’re standing on the stool. 

Then all your balance is gone, your eyes snap shut and you’re falling.

The scream doesn’t even have time to leave your mouth.

Warm arms wrap around your waist, halting your descent. Your eyelids stay sealed shut as heavy gasps fall from your lips. 

For a second, all you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears and your heartbeat. You can’t for the life of you catch your breath back, you’ve left your lungs somewhere two meters above you in the air.

"You can open your eyes. I've got you." 

The voice that finds your ears is quieter than Elise, more gentle, and infinitely lower. 

_James._

Your lungs slam right back into your chest.

“Is this going to become a habit of yours?”

His words hold no malice, just teasing you slightly, coaxing your erratic heartbeat gently.

He sounds like the warm summer night to Elise's crisp winter morning. Where Elise’s voice is fresh snow and still air, James’ voice is cicadas singing as you stretch out in a cosy hammock. 

You blink slowly and as the world starts to come back into focus, the most vibrant blue eyes you've ever seen in your life meet your gaze. 

Cerulean pools with worry and a quiet amusement lapping around in them stare down at you.

“Depends, are you always gonna catch me?” You snipe back, mustering as much finesse as you can with the little breath left in your lungs.

His arms tighten almost imperceptibly around you, “I’ll try.”

A pause as you catch your breath back.

“You came back.”

“I did.”

“Are you liking the book?”

“Actually that’s what I wanted to talk to you about-“

“Y/N!” 

Elise comes barreling towards you. 

“You’re alive.” She pinches your side gently and you notice that though her voice is light, there's a slight strain on her words. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure her, “James caught me.” Then you prod her arm softly, “Don’t worry, it isn’t good for Elise junior.”

“I’m sure Elise junior will understand if watching you fall from that godforsaken stool made me a little nervous.” She grumbles back. “I don’t even know how James caught you, I've never seen _anyone_ move that fast.”

You look up at James for confirmation and he just shrugs. 

The three of you fall into silence, Elise’s eyes run rampant over your body, scanning for any injuries and you let her. 

James breaks the quiet after a while, arms loosening as if he suddenly becomes aware of how close the two of you are. He steps away carefully, pressing his gloved hands into his sides. 

"I- I’m sorry if I hurt you." It's so small that you barely catch it but you turn to face him, surprised.

"Hurt me? James you just saved my life.”

An overstatement probably, but it makes his shoulders relax ever so slightly.

“Well, I don’t think you would have _died_ -“

You give him a pointed stare, “I’m trying to say thank you.” 

He just offers you a smile back which seems a tiny bit more comfortable than then one he shot you last week. 

It’s like he’s been practicing. 

Regardless, you grab onto the expression; full lips and young eyes, deciding in that moment that it's the only thing you want to see on his face. 

James clears his throat. 

“I came to bring this back” He pulls away gently, leaning down to rummage through a worn navy backpack for a second before his hands pull out a book. 

Your book. 

For a whole minute, you don’t say a word. 

Then, a small overwhelmed sound falls from your lips. "Oh _James._ "

He evidently thinks he's done something wrong because he’s already mumbling apologies, any trace of a smile wiped clean off his face.

You shake your head.

"No it's okay I- _thank you_... I didn't think I was ever gonna see this again." 

James seems to consider this for a while, a small crease appears between his brows and his hands comes up to smooth it out. 

"It had all your annotations in it, I thought it might be important to you." He says.

You nod, smile wobbling a little. "It is... Did you read them?"

“Not all of them; they seemed.. Private.. I hope you don't mind-"

"No! not at all. They’re just silly notes after all."

Elise, who’s been watching the two of you like a hawk shoots you a look and you know exactly what it means because the both of you know _full well_ that they're not just _silly notes._

They might seem that way to someone just skimming through, but they hold your entire world in them.

They hold memories of sitting hunched over its pages, over analyzing quotes, circling phrases, sketching mindless pictures in the margins. 

Memories of your father sitting by your bed and reading it to you when you fell ill as a child. Of you reading it out to him whenever you’d go on long car journeys. Of the two of you leaving sticky notes in it for the other to find.

So much history pressed into those worn pages. 

Strangely enough, James is looking at you the same way that Elise is; like he’s about to say something but then decides against it. 

Instead he just presses the book into your hands firmly.

Your fingers brush his covered ones gently and it might be your imagination but his hand seems to linger for a little longer than it should against yours. 

Then your eyes meet and it's like you're falling all over again but this time you don't want to stop. 

Your attention is brought away by Elise, “Hey Y/N, I have to go for a doctors appointment, are you okay to close?”

“Of course. Tell me how it goes!”

“Will do,” she pulls you in for a hug. “Try not to fall over anymore okay?”

You roll your eyes but nod because you know that underneath all her joking and endless teasing, Elise worries about you more than she should. She always has. 

She squeezes you once more for good measure.

“I love you! See you tomorrow.” You're often unsure about things, but never about Elise. Loving her is the easiest thing you've ever done. It always will be.

She makes her way to the door, "I love you too."

Then she's gone.

You look back at James and he clears his throat lightly, hands fiddling with the backpack he hasn't put back on yet.

“Do you have any other recommendations?” 

You grin at him, “Would you like another book?” 

He nods. 

“Okay sure! Do you want more fantasy like _‘The Neverending Story’_ or something else?”

He replies without hesitation. “Something with space. And science... I’m not sure what the term for that is.”

“I can work with that. Would you like something made up or with real facts?” you ask as you step away from him to rifle through the shelves nearest to you.

“Maybe something real. I used to really love all the science stuff back when-“ There's a soft choking sound as James cuts himself off abruptly. You turn to see a wild, panicked look lights his eyes turning ocean blue into a tempest.

You take a step closer to him, abandoning the book shelf. “You okay?”

He doesn’t reply, but his breaths are coming out heavy and laboured so you try again. 

“Is everything okay?” You murmur, “James?”

His name seems to shove him back into reality. 

Trembling eyes find yours. 

“I- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. Would you still like a book?”

The quick change of subject seems to help. 

“Yes.. I- yeah I would.”

You give him your warmest smile, “give me a second okay?” 

It turns out to be more difficult to find James the right book. 

You leaf through the rows carefully. Setting aside a small pile of space epics, telling of intergalactic sagas and grand fights. Academic journals about stars and planets, astrology handbooks. Every so often, you look back at James checking his face for any signs of the panic you saw before but nothing more happens. You don't know if you should mention it but James does a good job of avoiding your looks, focusing on the wall across from him instead. 

You pull your attention back to the books.

When you have a good armful, you place them on the counter.

“There’s fiction and non fiction here. Which would you like?”

“Non fiction.” James’ teeth tug at his lower lip relentlessly. 

“Okay, that’s this pile,” you nudge it towards him, “take your pick.”

James pulls the pile apart tentatively, scanning all the covers until his eyes land on a thick blue book near the bottom.

_“ **1001 SPACE FACTS** ” _

It’s not something you would have chosen but his eyes light up a fraction as he looks at you. 

“I think I like this one.” He murmurs pushing it towards you, “how much is it?”

You shake your head gently, giving it back to him, “You practically saved my life. It’s free.”

James starts to retort so you narrow your eyes, “ _and_ you brought back my book. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

He sighs, “You’re not gonna let me win are you?”

You lean over to him, “Nope!” The “P” pops on your tongue gently. Then you grab a piece of paper near you and scrawl your number onto it.

“Here! Now you can text me. Maybe you can tell me how it goes? Tell me what space facts you find interesting?” The words sound stupid as they leave your mouth but you can almost hear Elise cheering you on. 

James stills, eyes fixed on the paper you’re handing out to him. 

Then he raises an eyebrow gently, “You like space?”

“Not particularly,” you tap the cover gently before handing it to him, “But I’m sure there’s _something_ interesting in there.”

James takes the paper from you. 

“I’ll let you know.”

***

  
  


When you get home, your kitchen is warm, the sinking sun bathing the entire room in soft claret shadows.

You make yourself spaghetti for dinner. Sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, as you stir a pot of pesto absentmindedly. The radio plays something vaguely familiar and old into the room, the steam rising from the almost boiling water slow dances to the music. 

You enjoy this.

The quiet solitude of living alone, the warmth and utter safety of your small apartment. The unmade bed, the books littered around in every room, the sweet smell of vanilla. It's wonderful, you think, to have a whole space entirely for _you._

And perhaps when Elise tells you that you seem lonely she’s right, perhaps you _are lonely_ , with only your books for company. Maybe you should take her advice and go out more, fall recklessly in love. 

For now though, you’re okay. You have Elise, you have the store. You might have James too. That's enough.

Both you and God know there are lonelier ways to live.

***

You drop onto your bed heavily, nestling into the enormous white comforter you picked out for it.

Your phone pings with a notification.

**_Unknown number 21:56_ **

**'The sunset on Mars is blue.'**

Another message follows it quickly. 

**'This is James by the way.'**

You push your face into your cushion, suppressing the smile that’s building on your face. 

**'guessing you’re enjoying the book??'**

**'I am. Thank you for letting me take it.'**

A small part of you melts because he texts like an old person. 

**'Anytime! Have you read anything else?'**

**'Yes. There are storms on Neptune that are so big they could swallow Earth.'**

**'Oh my god a terrifying thought'**

There’s no reply for a while but then James’ name flashes up on the screen again. 

**'Neptune is pretty far away. I doubt one of it’s storms will be swallowing the Earth any time soon.'**

He sends another message before you can reply.

**'I have to go now. Thank you again for the book.'**

' **No problem!! Goodnight James'**

**'Night Y/N.'**

You fall asleep with your phone pressed to your chest and a smile pressed on your face.

***

The smile that found Bucky's face and stayed there for the duration of his trip on the subway falls off the moment he walks through the compound doors

Steve is standing by the reception shaking his head frustratedly as he gestures wildly to Natasha who’s leaning on the desk next to him. 

Bucky considers slipping past them, but before he can, Steve turns around and their eyes meet. 

_Shit_. 

“Buck?” Steve’s voice sounds so relieved as it brushes gently on Bucky’s enhanced hearing, that it makes Bucky lapse into guilt without even knowing the reason for the relief.

He makes his way over to where Steve and Nat are standing. 

“ _Thank God_ , _Bucky_.” Steve wastes no time pulling him into a tight embrace. 

Bucky stiffens under his best friends hands and moves back, ignoring the hurt splayed blatantly on Steve’s face.

“What’s happened?” Bucky asks.

Natasha replies, “No one knew where you were, Cap nearly threw a fit.” 

Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair. 

“I saw that your backpack was gone and I….”

_I thought you’d left._

He doesn’t even have to say it, Bucky already knows.

“I was just out.” He avoids Steve’s gaze. 

“Where did you go?”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to meet Steves to look for any traces of anger. But there’s not even a hint of accusation. Just fear and worry. 

“I was giving something back to someone.”

Nat and Steve just look at him, patiently waiting for more. 

Bucky clears his throat. 

“A book,” he clarifies, “to a girl.”

It must not clarify _shit_ for them because they say nothing. 

“Her name is Y/N. She gave me a book last week and I was giving it back. Is that it? Can I go?” 

“She’s just a civilian?”

“Yes.” and Bucky has to push the confirmation between gritted teeth because it’s been a long day and he wants to sleep. Not be grilled by Steve.

His friend must pick up on it because he raises his hands in defeat. 

“Okay, Okay. But.. Tell me. Next time you go out. Heck tell _FRIDAY_ if you don’t wanna talk to me. I was just worried.”

And because Bucky knows that Steve would never lie to him, he nods.

“M’ sorry for worrying you.” 

Without waiting for Steve’s response, Bucky walks away, leaving his best friend behind him.

***  
  


It’s the early hours of the morning when Natasha finds Bucky in the kitchen. 

She pulls the mug from his hands without asking, cold tea sloshing around in it as she busies herself around the room. 

When she’s done warming his tea up, she makes a coffee for herself. No sugar or milk. Just coffee and a shot of vodka.

They sit side by side quietly.

Bucky turns to the redhead, “Please don't try to find her. She doesn’t know.” 

She just tilts her head slightly “I only will if I have to.”

“You _won’t_ have to.” His voices comes out harsher than it should.

Silence again. 

“Do you want to see her again?”

Bucky knows better than to lie to Natasha. 

“ _Yes_.” 

Natasha just nods. “Maybe it’ll be good for you. Something separate. More normal.”

It’s almost laughable. 

Neither he or Natasha have known _normal_ in a long time. 

“She gave me another book, and her number.”

Natasha snorts.

“Have you messaged her?”

Bucky nods, “Did you know that the sunsets on Mars are blue?”

Natasha glances at him sideways. 

“Is that how you’re going to woo her? _With space facts?_ ”

Bucky’s heart falls because she’s right. Y/N probably doesn’t want to hear him rambling about stars and planets in the middle of the night. 

Before his thoughts can drag him down further, Natasha nudges him. 

“I’m joking Barnes, I think it’s sweet.”

“What is?”

“You like her.”

Bucky shakes his head vehemently, “I don’t. I barely know her.”

“Oh yeah? What’s her favorite color?”

Bucky’s mind flies back to when he was reading _"The Neverending Story"_. Almost all the annotations we’re in varying shades of blue. Some like the ocean, others like the midnight sky. 

“I think it’s blue.” The words come out before he can stop them.

Natasha fixes him with an _I told you so_ stare. 

Bucky avoids her gaze.

It’s quiet again for some time. The shadows play tricks on Bucky’s eyes and he flinches. The vodka scorches Natasha’s throat. 

They both ignore it. It always seems to be easier that way.

Soon, Bucky feels a weight drop on his shoulder. 

She’s fallen asleep. 

It doesn’t happen often, but it’s happened enough that he knows how to move her without waking her up. 

He slides an arm under Natasha’s legs and the other under her back, standing up with her pressed close. 

Bucky walks over to the sofa, putting her down as gently as he can, tucking a blanket over her.

He thinks she looks infinitely younger like this. Curled up into herself tightly, face empty of the usual stoic expression it holds. Red curls falling over her eyes. 

He leaves her there, she wont mind. 

Bucky knows they should probably talk about their shared past. There's a lot that's been left unsaid between them. A lot of anguish and broken love. 

For now though, this is okay, he thinks. 

Bucky doesn't go to sleep for a long time. 


End file.
